


Worn Wear Won Wars

by ELavoy



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Gen, I just want my baby to have some happiness okay, No beta we die like mutavore, birthday fic, not Hansencest but you can read it that way if you want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:00:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25916998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ELavoy/pseuds/ELavoy
Summary: Birthday fic for my baby Chuck. Herc gives Chuck a gift. A tiny little bit of character study..
Relationships: Chuck Hansen & Hercules Hansen
Kudos: 7





	Worn Wear Won Wars

**Author's Note:**

> Chuck deserves all the happiness in the world but my depressing mind can only give him so little. I can’t write fluff for the life of me. Also posted on tumblr https://elavoyy.tumblr.com/post/626530472020869120/worn-wear-won-wars-aka-chuck-hansen-birthday-fic

Chuck’s 17th birthday started as uneventful as any other day he spent in the shatterdome. He had woken up, trained, walked Max, showered, had breakfast, then trained some more.

The atmosphere in Sydney Shatterdome was always filled with an undercurrent of anxiousness and anticipation, and a routined busyness. Everything seemed the same as yesterday.

He didn’t expect to see Herc before their afternoon combat training session, but there he was, sitting at their table in the mess hall at lunch, having a seemingly pleasant conversation with one of Striker’s J-techs.

If Chuck had learned anything during the past year of drifting with his father, it was that Herc hated when Chuck publicly demonstrated how disfunctional their relationship was. It hadn’t much to do with shame or pride, no. Rather everything to do with how private a person Herc was and how much he hated assumptions, particularly on their father-son relationship, and how the soldier in him expected his son to act like one at all times.

So Chuck cursed to himself inwardly and made way to where his father was sitting, tray in one hand and Max’s leash in the other. He took the seat with a mumbled ‘hey old man’, then picked Max up and dumped him in Herc’s lap. Almost a peace offering as good as any.

‘Hey kid,’ Herc replied, scraching behind the tail-wagging bulldog’s ears without any protest to the deliberate greeting, which really was a surprise to Chuck. But he made no comment on it, instead picked up his fork and started attacking on the egg salad.

It wasn’t often that he and Herc ate lunch together when their schedule didn’t overlap in the morning. Chuck preferred to get ahead the busy lunch rush and finish eating as quickly as possible while Herc usually waited until the last fifteen minutes before they stopped serving. And in his stubborn mind Chuck had always thought Striker’s team being seen together was more for appearances’ sake than them actually wanting to spend time with each other.

Which was why he couldn’t help feeling a little alert when Herc made no move to leave after he had obviously finished his food. He could feel the old man’s attention focusing on him even though he was still idly chatting with the J-tech across the table. That was another thing with sitting side by side with your drift partner, no wire or machine was needed to feel the other’s existence in the back of your mind, nor does every intention need to be read through body language or eye contact.

Finally Chuck broke his silence when the J-tech left the table and Herc showed no sign of following, ‘Don’t you have something better to do than sitting around, old man?’

Herc glared at him for a second and said: ‘Don’t call me that.’ Then he looked down at Max, clearly avoiding eye contact, which he rarely did and that just got Chuck more on edge.

Now that Chuck actually turned to look at him, he could see the slight awkwardness on Herc’s face. The typical “I have something to say but I don’t know how” face which could only mean the next thing that comes out of his father’s mouth would be either extremely infuriating or tremendously embarrassing. Great. Chuck regretted not just take his lunch and leave when he had the chance. He was having an okay day until then and really wasn’t in the mood for emotional conflicts.

He was just about to get up and leave but of course Herc sensed his retreat and stopped him before he could.

‘Striker’s crew wants to throw you a party.’ Herc said, in a carefully neutral tone.

‘What?’ Chuck asked. Because none of the words Herc just said made sense to him.

Looking at Chuck’s furrowed brows and genuinely confused face, Herc sighed, ‘They knew it’s your birthday today. And they wanted to celebrate. They asked me to ask you if you were down.’

Chuck looked at Herc like he’d just lost his mind. ‘What? No! Why?’ Then he realised he was probably over reacting a bit, so he lowered his voice, ‘No. What were they thinking? This isn’t a fucking summer camp. And why didn’t you just tell them that?’

Herc, surprisingly let the swear word slide, just shrugged. ‘I told them a surprise party would be a very bad idea. And that you probably won’t say yes.’

‘A surprise party.’ Chuck repeated dryly. Just saying these words out loud made Chuck want to grimace. Yes it’s only been a little more than half a year since he started working with these people, but nevertheless they should know that Chuck passionately hated both socialising and surprises. A surprise party. If Chuck didn’t know better he would think they were trying to get back to him for breaking Striker’s fingers on their last drop.

‘They mean well.’ Herc said, ‘And you can’t blame them for finding every excuse to let loose a bit, eh?’

That last comment brought up some unpleasant memories for both of them, and for a short moment Chuck didn’t know what to say.

‘Besides, it’s your first birthday as a Ranger. Reckoned you’d want to celebrate.’ Herc stood up and made to collect both their empty trays. ‘I’ll just tell them that you don’t then.’

Chuck picked up Max’s leash and followed his father’s movements without thinking, still feeling a little off balance with what Herc just said, though he couldn’t quite figure out why.

Herc turned to face him at the door way and hesitated, but in the end he just clapped Chuck’s shoulder and said: ‘see ya later, eh kid?’ Then walked away.

————————

Their training session that afternoon went as well as training sessions could go, leaving them with sore muscles and aching bones and a wonderful aftertaste of adrenaline rush. To Chuck’s relief, Herc didn’t mention anything about birthdays or parties or surprises again, so all in all Chuck was quite happy with how this day ended, now all that left to do was to shower, get some food, then go back to his bunker and do some reading before bed while cuddling with his dog.

Chuck was about to go pick Max up from his sitter—a nice mechanic lady who works in the workshops in the hangars, before heading to the mess hall, when Herc called out to him.

‘Chuck, wait.’ Herc strode down the hallway and gestured for him to follow, ‘Come for a sec, got something for ya.’

‘What now, old man?’ Chuck’s tone was sceptical and wary, as he seamlessly fell into step with his father, ‘This isn’t about that party bullshit again, is it?’

‘Watch it kid.’ Herc warned without really meaning it. ‘No, it’s not. I got something for your birthday, you little wanker.’

Now Chuck wasn’t expecting _that_. See, after Angela had died, the Hansens just didn’t do birthdays anymore. Mostly because they were usually apart at the times, and evidently calling to say “Happy Birthday” was beyond their capabilities. In the past six years, Herc had gotten Chuck exactly one birthday gift, and that gift was probably getting a belly rub from a nice little lady in the mechanic shop at this moment. So Chuck really didn’t know how to respond, except with his usual “when confused with emotions, act like a little shit” tactic.

‘Since when do you care about anyone’s birthdays?’ Chuck scoffed as they came to a stop in front of Herc’s room, ‘Is it a head injury or just being old?’

‘For fucks sake, Chuck. Can you stop being a brat for one second and accept that people actually care about you?’ Herc pulled the metal door open with an unnecessary amount of force, and purposely ignored the loud noise when it smashed against the wall. He rolled his eyes when Chuck was startled at the sound. ‘And I’m not even forty. Get in.’

Chuck sat on the desk chair and watched Herc close the door behind him, then went straight to pull something out from the cupboard in the corner.

‘Here, try it on.’ Herc threw the jacket at Chuck’s head, but Chuck’s reflex was way too fast to get hit.

It was a leather bomber jacket, dark coloured with short faux fur lining the collar. The leather dull but thick and resilient, the weight heavy and the touch soft. Striker’s logo was sewn onto the right upper arm, its colour vibrant and stitches new, a jarring contrast to the old leather. But Chuck’s eyes were caught on the back, where a little Kaijiu head was spray painted to the left.

‘You got me a second hand bomber.’ Chuck was trying to sound judgmental but he couldn’t stop himself from tracing his hand along the Striker logo and the soft leather over and over.

‘I wore it in Hong Kong.’

Chuck looked up at Herc, there was reminiscence in his eyes, which quickly dissolved into smugness when he saw how carefully Chuck had caressed the garment.

‘It’s probably a bit big for you now, but you’ll grow into it, hopefully.’ Herc said with a smirk.

‘Yeah yeah, and soon it’ll be too small.’ Chuck grinned in that way when he knows he’s being a brat.

‘You wish.’ Herc chuckled, shook his head, then opened the door and waved a hand, ‘Now get out of here and go eat your veges.’

Chuck folded the jacket over his arms and walked through the door, then turned back to look at his father, who was looking at him with the same expression as at lunch, and said: ‘Thanks, dad.’

Herc smiled at him, and for some reason, looked almost relieved as he replied: ‘Happy birthday, Chuck.’

Chuck nodded once and walked away, he never heard the loud clang of a metal door before he turned the corner.

Fin.


End file.
